


Coming Home

by SuddenlySullen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Soft boys being soft, aftermath of Major Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlySullen/pseuds/SuddenlySullen
Summary: "A hand falls on Peter’s shoulder. He can’t look up at the person touching him. He knows it isn’t the person he wants it to be."Written For Kinktober Day 6  - Prompt: Bathing (although this is just Hurt/Comfort and not kinky, it's what happened when I saw the prompt)





	Coming Home

Peter sits collapsed in the dirt, unable to tear his eyes away from Tony’s face. He’s praying that any moment, Tony will give them all a grin and say something like “You should have seen your faces” and they’ll all celebrate together. His eyes are still open. Nothing has prepared Peter for seeing his eyes open while everything that makes him  _ him  _ drains out of him. The sound of Pepper’s soft sobs barely register in his brain. He thinks he should comfort her, if he could force his body to move or his mouth to know what to say. He sees, but doesn’t, when Scarlet Witch says something to her and helps her stand. Captain America walks towards them. He gives Peter a respectful nod as he walks by. War Machine stops him before he can approach, shaking his head. Cap doesn’t fight it. He backs away, walking away with Thor’s arm wrapped around his shoulder to join Doctor Strange, who seems to be making portals for everyone to go home. Their mouths are moving and he should be able to hear everything everyone is saying, but all he can hear is ringing. Peter isn’t sure where home is anymore. He knows there was time between when he passed out and when Strange brought them here. He can see the age on the faces of the people around him, the ones who didn’t go. 

A hand falls on Peter’s shoulder. He can’t look up at the person touching him. He knows it isn’t the person he wants it to be. He can see that person’s limp body, cradled in War Machine’s arms. His eyes are still open. Biting his fist, he tries to choke down a fresh round of sobs. He’s an Avenger, whatever that means anymore, and Avengers have to be strong. He doesn’t know how to be strong without him. The hand is under his arm, lifting him up. His feet don’t want to support his weight, but it doesn’t matter because the strong arm is keeping him upright. Face turned down, he realizes that his suit is covered in mud. He hopes, for a fleeting moment, that  _ he _ won’t be mad that the new suit got dirty. Then he remembers. His hands grip the bicep of the person dragging him along. 

He feels the familiar drop of his stomach from passing through Strange’s portals. There’s pavement under his feet and so much noise ringing in his ears. They’re moving and he doesn’t care where as long as the noise stops and he can go back to his haze. 

Peter jolts awake when his feet touch warm water. He flinches, but the arms around him lower him into the water anyway and, as much as he doesn’t want it to be, the water is comfortable. He opens his eyes, letting them adjust to the dim light of the bathroom. It looks familiar, but not. Somewhere he might have been in another life. The strong arm around his back is attached to a pale man with dark hair and sad eyes. He feels more familiar than he looks. His sleeves are rolled up and he’s rubbing a washcloth in gentle circles over Peter’s body. 

Tears stream down Peter’s face. There are a thousand questions he wants answered, but he can’t force his mouth to come out with any of them. He winces when the washcloth moves over some particularly bad bruises. 

“Sorry,” the man murmurs.

Peter lets his eyes close again. He tries to focus on the pain instead of letting himself be comfortable. At least pain is better than nothing. A hand shields his face as the man pours water over his hair and massages shampoo into his scalp. Peter wants to yell at him to go away, he doesn’t deserve having someone be so gentle with him. He can’t find the energy and, if he could, he isn’t sure he’d have the will to send the man away. Selfish or not, he’s terrified that at any moment he might disappear again. The water pours over his hair again, rinsing soap from his hair. The last thing he feels is the sensation of falling before his mind goes blank.

He wakes in a bed and he’s screaming. There is a strong arm helping him sit up before his eyes open. He isn’t sure how long he went again. He opens his eyes, adjusting them to the dark. 

“You're awake,” the same man who carried him through the portal is speaking. His voice is smooth, hesitant. 

Peter nods. His hair is dry and he wonders how long he was gone for. He doesn't ask. Instead, he says: "You were there."

"I was." 

"Who," Peter's voice trails off without finishing his sentence. He knows he's supposed to make small talk. Be polite. He can't. He remembers what happened. Remembers  _ his _ face.  _ His _ eyes. He wonders if they're shut now. He hopes so. 

"I am Loki. Son of Odin. God of mischief." 

"We won." 

"The universe won," Loki says slowly. 

"Where is everyone?"

Loki sighs softly. "The so-called wizard sent everyone to their homes."

"But you." Peter tries to find his usual conversational edge, but fails, letting the sentence hang in the air.

"Something else seemed more pressing."

"Thank you."


End file.
